Who Says You Can't Call Home?
by CaptainOzone
Summary: After a rough week during which Red X causes trouble and escapes (again), Robin gets a call from Gotham, and the Titans "meet" the butler behind the Bat. Or: Alfred calls Titan Tower, and Robin is embarrassed. Beast Boy has some feels, and food is mentioned. And in part 2, Dick Grayson has a chance to begin reconnecting with family…about family.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Title is not-so-subtly inspired by Bon Jovi's "Who Says You Can't Go Home?"

I cannot pretend I know the DC universe well. What I tried to do here was overlay what I know about the Batman timeline with that of the Teen Titans cartoon. So…this is set in a time where Tim Drake has yet to appeal to Dick Grayson about returning to Batman's side as Robin. But that is happening. Soon. In the Teen Titans show, Dick Grayson is obviously not Nightwing yet, but I figure he will find the perfect reason to finally become Nightwing once Tim Drake becomes Robin.

Red X, of course, is Jason Todd, who has yet to become Red Hood. He's on that path, though, undoubtedly. He was killed in a bomb explosion, no thanks to the Joker, and was brought back to life via Lazarus Pit. I like to think he was "experimenting" as Red X before settling into his Red Hood identity.

Dick Grayson has left Batman's side because Bruce wanted Dick to stop being Robin after the Joker shot and injured him. Dick said, "nuh-uh, Robin is me and I am Robin" and peaced out to find his own path outside of Bruce's influence (which is how we find him in the Titans origin episode). Bruce and Dick's relationship is a bit rocky because of this.

All that being said, I guess this is AU? I don't know. All I know is that I fell in love with Dick Grayson through Young Justice, and because I found SO many opportunities for Bat-fam feels in Teen Titans (because Batman/Gotham is mentioned maybe TWICE in the whole show?), this was born.

* * *

 **Part One**

* * *

The phone was ringing.

Again.

Beast Boy grimaced and eyed the phone with disdain. If Robin was going to _insist_ they keep a civilian landline when they had a perfectly fine, state-of-the-art communication system in their living room, the very least he could do was answer the damn thing when it rang. Or maybe even allow someone else to answer it, if disconnecting it wasn't an option.

Robin, however, had taken one brief look at the caller ID that morning, and, rolling his eyes, put the phone back in its dock.

"Who is it?" Cyborg had grunted carelessly as he cracked open an energy drink and flopped down on the couch. He sounded like a zombie. In fact, Beast Boy _felt_ like a zombie, and the others certainly looked the part, too.

The past week and a half had been hellish, no thanks to Red X's sudden and random aspiration to become a gang boss. The thief's motivations for organizing the leaders of Jump City's most prominent drug rings were still a mystery to them, even after Robin's obsessive detective work. _How_ Red X had managed to get as far as he did in such a short amount of time was an even greater mystery to Beast Boy, one that captivated him much of the week.

It still intrigued him, truth be told, if only because the whole situation offered fodder for several…theories Beast Boy had.

But that was neither here nor there.

Regardless of the whys and hows, the Titans had jumped into the mission headfirst, and it had taken them multiple late nights to research, infiltrate, and then bust the entire operation. It had taken several more to ensure it all stayed busted, and in the end, though it obviously pained him to do so, Robin had to call off the search for Red X, who'd slipped away during one commotion or another, as though made of shadow.

(Needless to say, the mission had taken its toll, and motivation and patience were hard to come by in Titans Tower that day.)

"Who _could_ it be?" Raven had asked in a bland voice.

"The police are most befuddled after recent events," Starfire had said. "Do they not have…their fill of hands?"

"Hands full," Cyborg had corrected. "I bet they wish they had more hands right about now. Anyway, if it was the JCPD, they'd contact us through the main comm."

"Perhaps it's just a prank call," Beast Boy had suggested through a yawn, lifting his head from his folded arms. "It wouldn't be the first time."

(None of them would put it past Kid Flash or Speedy to try to get the better of Robin. They reveled in the challenge.)

"Don't worry about it, guys," Robin had said with surprising levity and cheer. "It's no one important. Just ignore it."

Despite his light tone, he had still somehow managed to diffuse all further questions. Perks of being a Bat. Or a leader. Whichever. The others had shrugged, and that had been the end of that.

Or so Beast Boy had thought.

The caller—and it must have been the same caller—was persistent and only became more persistent as the afternoon ticked on.

"Let it ring," Robin had reminded them.

Even the distraction of mind-numbing video games couldn't prevent Cyborg and Beast Boy from beginning to give each other exasperated looks whenever the phone rang, each of them wondering who would crack and disobey their leader's orders first. When sheer laziness won out, they eventually turned a pleading gaze to the others, but Raven had long since retreated to her room. Starfire was also out of the running: she flitted around the kitchen without a care in the world, humming along to the phone's ringtone as she prepared some ghastly Tamaranean casserole that smelled like rotten eggs and garlic. Robin himself couldn't be bothered. He had withdrawn into his own little world, the wide desk before him illuminated by no less than three computer screens and littered with reports detailing their recent mission. The guy had an uncanny ability to block all extraneous noise when he was focused, and Beast Boy envied him that.

The ear-grating jingle ceased, and for a moment, Beast Boy stared at the phone on the counter, waiting for the inevitable. When silence reigned for a full thirty seconds, he sighed in relief.

"'nother round, BB?" Cyborg asked, gesturing to the screen with his Wii controller.

Beast Boy took a gulp of his Red Bull and smacked his lips. "You're on, Rust-Bucket!"

"Ohhhhh-ho-ho. Those are fighting words, Grass Stain! You're going _down_ now!"

Sensing an opportunity to up the stakes, Beast Boy grinned. "You wanna bet a large Choco-Choco milkshake on tha— _are you freakin' kidding me_!?"

The caller had dared to dial their number again.

With a growl, Beast Boy turned and half-morphed into a falcon as he sprang over the end of the couch, swiftly gliding up to the phone and transforming back to swipe it from its dock. He pushed the answer button with far more force than necessary.

"Alright, dude," Beast Boy said into the receiver. "I don't care who you are, but you need to stop calling, like, every two minutes." That was an exaggeration, but even still: this guy was being the definition of obnoxious. "We've had a rough few days, and a moment of peace would be appreciated. Try again tomorrow."

" _…I beg your par—?"_

Beast Boy hung up, unable to muster the energy to feel guilty about the affronted tone on the other end. When he faced the room again, Cyborg was smirking at him. "I knew you'd cave first," he said.

Throwing a glance at Robin, who was still in muttering to himself and frowning at some code on one of his computer screens, Beast Boy sighed. "Seriously, though," he grumbled. "Who does this guy think he is, anyway?"

Cyborg grunted in response, and after Beast Boy settled back on the couch, they bickered over characters and maps before finally starting a game.

Beast Boy didn't waste time once the clock started. Cyborg's charge-first-ask-questions-never approach always managed to bite him in the ass, leaving him open to long-range attacks, and he took full advantage, using Link's boomerang to stun his opponent. While Donkey Kong was "recovering," Link rushed him, rolling to slash with his sword from behind.

Too. Easy.

Cyborg snarled and barely had time to retaliate with a Spinning Kong attack before the screen went inexplicably black.

The boys blinked in astonishment before screeching wordlessly, indignant that their Brawl would be interrupted like—

The Titans emblem flashed on screen, in green. It pulsed gently, the ringing tone far kinder on the ears than that of the landline.

"…green?" Beast Boy asked aloud, in surprise.

After getting hacked ( _again),_ their communications system, recently redesigned by Cyborg and Robin in collaboration with the best and brightest minds of the Justice League, was only accessible to super important individuals who'd been entrusted a super special security code. The law enforcement officials and workers of Jump City had clearance to call, as did the Titans' allies, who ranged from the Titans East to the Green Lantern Corps. Codes scrambled and updated at random, and calls were filtered and categorized accordingly.

Most callers were well aware that the Tower's system was meant to be used for debriefings, information-gathering, emergencies, and requests for backup. Superhero-y things, obviously. As such, Beast Boy was far more familiar with yellow, orange, and red priority calls.

Green, though? Priority green was a rarity: it was like the equivalent of a personal Skype call, one that required a secure and safe line for the sake of keeping secret identities and other sensitive information…well, secret.

Beast Boy's stomach knotted as a dark, terrifying suspicion took root in his mind. Had someone in Doom Patrol…?

Heart racing, Beast Boy exchanged a look with Cyborg, who looked both intrigued and concerned. After clearing his throat, Beast Boy anxiously ordered, "Computer, answer."

Tense as a coiled spring, he waited for the call to connect, and because he expected a video feed to pop up, it took several seconds for him to realize the caller had elected to forgo video and was waiting for a response. "Um…hello?" he said belatedly.

 _"Good day_ ," came a prim voice. For a glorious moment, Beast Boy was flooded with relief— _thank the stars it wasn't Mento_ —but upon recognizing the British accent, his gut rolled again, dipping into a free-fall.

This was the guy he'd just hung up on. No doubt about it. There was an unmistakable note of disapproval and irony in the man's voice that was hard to forget, one that made Beast Boy feel like…like _Gar_ again _,_ a boy he'd long since left behind in Africa, a boy who would take in every stray he found and one who would wrestle with the dogs in the mud and who always got underfoot whenever his parents were working.

There was a sudden crash, and Beast Boy whipped around to see Robin standing, his chair overturned on the floor. His face drained of blood, and he stared at the screen with a look of dawning horror.

The caller did not wait for the frozen Titans to exchange any pleasantries. " _I hope you can assist me, Master Beast Boy."_

 _…_ Master?! And hey, hang on, this guy knew his voice well enough to identify him by name? Who the fu…?

"Who calls?" Starfire asked, floating over from the kitchen.

"And how…um…can we help?" Cyborg added.

 _"Ah. Good day. I am in search of Master Ro—"_

Robin hissed a curse under his breath, and he launched himself across the room, scrambling over the back of the couch and nearly hurtling face-first into the coffee table in his haste. Beast Boy's jaw dropped, and he stared in utter disbelief. Robin was grace incarnate. He did not simply _trip._

What in the world…?

"Hey-eyyyyy, A," Robin drawled, an innocent and _sheepish_ smile _—_ no, that couldn't be right! Robin, one half of the Dynamic Duo, protégé of the Batman and leader of Titans West, sheepish!? No, Beast Boy _must_ be hallucinating.

He turned to Cyborg to see if he was seeing what he was seeing, and judging by the amused and baffled expression on his face, Beast Boy wasn't alone. Starfire hovered behind them, watching Robin with a cocked head.

 _"I hope that wasn't a crash I just heard, Master Robin."_

"Ahh, no, of course not," Robin lied smoothly, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips.

Who…Who was this person, even? No, who were _either_ of these people? The person before him wasn't the Robin Beast Boy knew. And this rando British guy calling out of nowhere? What was going _on?_

Each of the Titans had their reasons for keeping their pasts to themselves, and Robin was no exception. Robin, however, was the first of them, the first young hero, and as such, he was world-famous. Because he was so well-known, there were parts of his past he couldn't even attempt to hide, but that made him that much more protective of the stuff that was still private.

The Titans had learned early on not to so much as mention Batman or Gotham within Robin's earshot. Doing so resulted in a dark glare that sent shivers down the spine. Beast Boy had assumed the moment he met Robin that the Boy Wonder had not left on the best of terms with Batman, and, in his attempt to strike out on his own, wanted as few reminders of his partner—and of those he left behind—as possible.

Beast Boy wasn't so dumb that he couldn't figure out that much: "A" was obviously someone Robin knew well, from before. From Gotham.

But that didn't explain why "A" would call now, of all times. Or why Robin was acting so weird.

Taking another look at Robin's face, Beast Boy amended that thought to 'weirder than normal.'

 _"_ What is going on?!" Beast Boy mouthed at Cyborg.

The older teen shook his head, a slow smirk growing on his face.

" _Hm. And I suppose you haven't misplaced your mobile either?_ " A was saying.

"My mobi—? Oh." Robin's face went blank, clearly panicked as he struggled to remember where he put his cell phone. "Um…I haven't misplaced it. It's just not on me right now. I was working on something."

" _And your landline?"_

"I…uh…I saw the Gotham area code and immediately thought it was Babs, you know…and after the last call, I kinda just…"

" _I see._ "

Robin shuffled, and Beast Boy suddenly realized what was going on here.

Robin was getting _chewed out_.

That…that was both insanely amusing and just…downright insane.

Beast Boy watched with fascination as Robin's face drained of its remaining color. "Why are you calling, A? Is…Is everyone okay? Has anyone…?" he asked, a strange accent slipping into his voice as he babbled. "Is Babs…B…?"

" _Oh, no, Master Robin. The reason for my call isn't quite so dire."_

Robin slumped in relief, and with weak humor, he teased, "Considering the amount of times you called today, I would have thought it was very dire."

" _Well, if you called home every once and awhile, you would be a bit more 'in-the-know,' as they say,"_ A chastised. " _And I wouldn't give you such a fright when I try to get in touch with you out of concern for_ your _well-being."_

"Savaaaaaaage," Cyborg chuckled.

Beast Boy had never agreed more, but he wasn't about to voice that aloud. Robin's mood had done a complete one-eighty. The Boy Wonder shut down, his once guileless, endearing expression becoming shadowed and dangerously guarded in the blink of an eye.

This Robin, Beast Boy was far more familiar with, and he wondered if perhaps…he had just met the boy _under_ the mask for the first time.

Despite said mask, Beast Boy knew Robin was suddenly hyperaware of the others' presence in the room. "What's going on?" he asked suspiciously. "Did _he_ put you up to this?"

" _…You do me a disservice, my boy,"_ A sighed, sounding both disapproving and, if Beast Boy wasn't mistaken, _sad_. " _I only meant to check in and commend you and the other Titans on a job well done."_

The tension in Robin's shoulders loosened, and he sounded guilty when he said, "Oh."

 _"Oh, indeed. Jump City made it onto the Gotham news this morning. There was some footage of the team, and what I saw was most impressive. I'm proud of you, Master Robin, and I'm not the only one."_

Beast Boy's eyes widened as Robin brightened _,_ his entire being alight with joy. He'd never seen Robin so happy, and it was that kind of blinding and addictive sort of happiness, the type that made you happy simply by standing in its vicinity. In the blink of an eye, however, Robin seemed to come back to himself just as a grin threatened to break across his cheeks: his reaction to the praise was smothered by a wry expression, much like a thick storm cloud would stifle the sun's light. "It would be nice if he would say it every once and awhile," Robin muttered under his breath. "To my face."

If A noticed the swing in Robin's mood, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he teased, _"…even if you_ will _send me to an early grave if you continue to ignore your mobile."_

Some of Robin's gloominess dissipated. A smile touched his lips, warm and genuine, soft even, and he said, "I'll work on it, A. Promise."

" _Hm. Masters Beast Boy, Cyborg, and Miss Starfire, I hope you're taking note of his promise. I will leave it to you to ensure he keeps it."_

Robin's face flushed as he spluttered, and Cyborg's grin broadened. "You can certainly count on us, A!"

"Oh, yes!" Starfire chimed in. "I have been wondering if Robin was still having the contact with his _k'norfkae_." Her wide green eyes full of empathy, she bowed her head. "It saddens me to learn he hasn't."

"K'norfkae," Robin repeated dully. "How is it," he grumbled at the massive screen, "that you manage to twist everyone around your little finger within moments of meeting them, A?"

" _I can't say I know what you're referring to, Master Robin."_

Beast Boy snorted, eliciting a half-hearted glare from Robin.

"Alright," Robin said, "if you're done embarrassing me in front of my friends, I'll just—"

 _"Not so fast, young man. I know you all must be quite fatigued after the week you've had…"_ Beast Boy winced at the reminder of his rudeness earlier, his shoulders creeping to his ears. " _…but I couldn't help but notice…"_

Again, Robin became closed off. "What?" he asked, a little defensively.

 _"You've lost weight, Master Robin_."

Robin's face was priceless. Cyborg started chortling, and he wasn't quite fast enough to stifle his amusement. Contagious things, giggles. Beast Boy couldn't help but join in, his laughter only becoming harder to control as it occurred to him that, of all the things he had seen since joining the Teen Titans, this conversation had to be one of the most _absurd_.

Robin obviously didn't find it all that funny. "Are…are you _kidding_ me, A?" Robin deadpanned, ignoring Cyborg and Beast Boy as they fed off the hysterics of the other. "You called us to lecture me about my eating habits? Really?"

" _I never 'kid' about your health_ , _and do not presume I have forgotten exactly what you're like when you get involved in a case. When was the last time you had a proper meal?_ "

Beast Boy side-eyed the stack of Chef Boyardee cans and pizza boxes on the kitchen counter, waiting to be recycled. The trash can nearby overflowed with burger wrappers, Styrofoam cups, and cheap ramen and macaroni packets. Damning evidence of their lifestyle was scattered everywhere, and Beast Boy was almost happy the video feed was off, otherwise he was positive A would go off on _all_ of them.

But, yeah, thinking about it now, Beast Boy couldn't remember the last time he saw Robin eat. Most of the food they'd left out for him had been left untouched. Or picked at.

He knew because he and Cyborg usually shared the leftovers.

It was clear Robin didn't remember either. "I've been eating," he muttered in a petulant tone. He sounded like a child, and Beast Boy swallowed a giggle before he could be on the receiving end of a Bat-glare.

 _"Alright._ _If that is the case, then when was the last time you had anything remotely resembling a vegetable_?"

"I…ah…"

A sighed. _"As I thought. I'm shipping the lot of you some homemade meals_. _Today."_

…Homemade meals? _What_?

Sometimes, the older Titans would cook. Breakfast-for-dinner was a fan favorite courtesy of Cyborg. Raven was a surprisingly good baker, and the one and only time Robin cooked…wow, the guy could whip up a mean potato and veggie stew. And Star? Well, she was the only one who could tolerate the nasty stuff she made.

The days of crime-fighting, report-writing, and training made it difficult to find the time or motivation to prepare full meals, so they fended for themselves, usually. The thought of a real meal—and a homemade one, at that—made nostalgia swell and settle over him, and Beast Boy saw Gar again in his mind's eye, seated at a tiny table, steam rising from the plate before him, a sense of family and love cocooning him in comfort and warmth.

Beast Boy wrenched himself from the memory, the warmth dissipating into the smoke of reality. A sharp pang, radiating through his entire chest, took his breath away, and he shook his head. His family was gone, he reminded himself. The Titans were the only family he had left, unconventional as they were.

Yet this stranger had somehow managed to make him feel…

"Who _are_ you?" Beast Boy whispered.

He didn't have to ask. Not really. He knew.

Yeah, he knew.

Star overheard him, and she placed a kind hand on his shoulder as Robin argued, "A, I can't ask you to—"

" _Don't be ridiculous, Master Robin,"_ A scolded. " _You're all growing teenagers. You need proper, balanced meals in order to maintain your strength."_

"But don't you have enough to do without—?"

A spoke over Robin again. _"The meals I send you won't be fresh, per se, but after a bit of heating, even frozen meals will surely be preferable to the rubbish you've no doubt been ingesting._ "

"Best not argue with him, Robin," Cyborg teased, his eyes dancing. "I certainly wouldn't if I were you. Thank you, A."

Beast Boy echoed Cyborg numbly as Starfire spun in the air, her smile dazzling. "Yes, we give many thanks!" she agreed. "I am most keen to try this 'homemade meals.' Tell me, does it contain meats and cheeses?"

Chuckling, A said, " _That it can_ , _Miss Starfire."_

Starfire beamed happily, and Robin's gaze swept his team for a moment before he sighed and said, "Do you guys mind if I have the room?"

Cyborg was the first to stand. "Of course, man."

"Oh, we must say goodbye?" Starfire asked. Without waiting for a response, she addressed the screen. "It was a most glorious honor to meet one of Robin's _k'norfka_! Until we speak again!"

"What she said," Cyborg said. "And thank you again."

As the other two left, Cyborg guffawing as he went, Beast Boy found himself lingering, taking his time to clear the coffee table of his Red Bull cans and potato chip bags.

"Beast Boy," Robin said, eyes darting to the door and back.

"Yeah, I know," he said, shoulders slumping. "I'm going, I'm going." Swallowing, he faced the screen. "A, I'm…I'm sorry for how I answered the phone earlier."

" _There is nothing to apologize for. If anything, I am the one who must apologize. I was overzealous, wasn't I?"_

Beast Boy couldn't help but smile. "Just a little bit."

"A lot a bit," Robin corrected playfully. "Wow, Beast Boy, what did you do? I don't think I've heard A apologize for anything before. Between him and Batman, I—" He suddenly cut himself off, his smile twisting into a grimace. "Never mind. Will you tell the others I'll come get them when I'm done in here?"

"Sure."

Beast Boy turned to follow Cyborg and Star out the door, only to be halted in his tracks again by A, who said, " _Please send my regards to the others as well. I don't believe I expressed how nice it was to finally meet them_."

"Gotcha."

 _"Thank you, Master Garfield_."

Beast Boy froze, inhaling sharply enough that he began to choke on spit. His eyes flicked to Robin, who had taken a seat on the couch. The Boy Wonder's head was bowed as he massaged the bridge of his nose, the picture of someone whose most recent dose of caffeine was beginning to wear off.

Which…wasn't exactly the reaction Beast Boy would expect after his given name had just been used aloud, considering he'd never shared it with the others before. And considering how hush-hush Robin was about his own identity.

That could only mean one thing: Robin already knew his name. He probably already knew his whole freaking sob story. Beast Boy wasn't exactly sure how he felt about that, and he tried to process it logically. Any betrayed feelings he had were soon replaced by minor irritation at himself because _duh,_ he was _Robin._ He was trained by one of the world's best detectives, and if Robin knew Beast Boy's identity, it wasn't too far of a stretch to assume he probably knew everyone's secret I.D.

And by everyone, Beast Boy knew that meant _everyone_. All the heroes in the biz.

The Dynamic Duo thrived off information, especially the secret kind. It was their currency, and it was their passport. If A was family—because he couldn't be anything else to Robin—then he was undoubtedly privy to the same information they were. He was trusted, respected… _loved._ And not only by Robin himself but by Batman too, probably.

Beast Boy knew full well that Batman and Robin didn't often let others into their personal lives. A already having a place there? That fact alone was the most telling of them all.

And if A was going out of his way to look after the Titans and praise them for their work…if he wasn't above using a little parental power to make Star smile; to foster Cyborg's big-bro teasing tendencies; to coax the true Robin out from his mask…

…And to maybe even elicit old, long-forgotten memories of what it meant to feel _human_ again…

…Then what could Beast Boy possibly hope to offer but a little trust, respect, and admiration in return?

"…I prefer Gar, actually."

Gar could hear the smile in A's voice. " _A fine nickname, Master Gar._ "


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

* * *

"You know," Robin said slowly, well after Beast Boy had left the room, "sending us food isn't exactly helping me assert my independence, Alfred."

Robin was unsure if he should feel bitter or amused by the underhanded tactics the man employed to get his way, but he decided it didn't matter the moment the video feed clicked to life, displaying a smartly-dressed and stern-looking gentleman with twinkling pale eyes. Judging by the jagged shadows and gloom surrounding him, Alfred was calling from the Batcave, and a sense of familiarity overwhelmed Robin, his heart twinging.

Robin hadn't realized how much he missed the old butler until right then, when he laid eyes on him for the first time in months. And dammit to hell, he certainly hadn't realized he could still feel homesick for a place he no longer claimed to call home until that moment either.

He hated that there was a lump forming in his throat. He hated that his eyes slid to the shadows, as though expecting…

"Well, you should have thought about that before you decided that updating your case files was more important than your health."

Robin snorted, returning his attention to Alfred. He placed a hand over his heart. "It's almost like you don't trust me to look after myself. I thought you supported me, Alfred."

"Oh, don't pull that on me, Master Dick," Alfred scolded. His tone was good-natured, and knowing Alfred wasn't truly angry, Robin smiled Dick's smile, bright and wide. "Ah, but it is good to see that smile. It's been rather bleak here without it to illuminate these dark halls."

Robin knew it was Alfred's way of saying _I miss you,_ but it was hard not to remember the reasons he left Gotham, hanging like a thick curtain between them, and the words ended up stinging far more than they should have. He had to refrain from reaching for his shoulder, a habit he was trying to break now that the wound there was no more than a mere memory. Dropping his twitching hand, he sighed. Exhaustion settled deep into his bones, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the façade he'd been maintaining throughout the last few days crumbling to dust. "It's good to see you, Alfred," Robin said to the coffee table. "Really good."

"Likewise, Master Dick." There was a brief silence between them. "How are you?"

Robin swallowed, and he bit his tongue. It had been awhile since he'd been asked that, and it had been even longer since he'd considered an answer. Longer still since he'd given a _truthful_ answer. "I'm fine."

"And you'd be able to look me in the eyes and repeat that honestly?"

Robin looked up, opening his mouth to argue that, yes, indeed he could, but he stopped short. Normally whenever Alfred called BS, there was a certain snarkiness about his tone, which was accompanied by a harsh frown and a _you'd-better-not-lie-to-me-again_ steel in his eyes. Sometimes, he was more _amused_ than upset by his charges' clumsy attempts to hide something from him, but this time was different. This time, Robin saw nothing to suggest the old man was frustrated or disappointed.

No. This was the true reason Alfred called. He was concerned. Worried.

The lump in Robin's throat grew, and after surveying his grandfather-in-all-but-blood for a moment longer, he reached up to remove his mask. The adhesive wasn't fresh, but it tugged on his skin. It was a familiar sensation, one he'd been dealing since the age of five, long before he'd ever heard of Batman or Gotham, and he yanked the mask off without a single flinch.

Blinking his blue eyes and rubbing at his stinging forehead, he looked Alfred in the eye and didn't have to say a word.

"Oh, my boy…" Alfred whispered. He leaned forward in his chair, hands rising as if he wanted to reach through the computer monitor to give his youngest charge a hug.

And Dick Grayson—for he wasn't Robin now and couldn't _stand_ to be Robin now that the mask was off for what felt like the first time in a week—well, no matter who it was he claimed to be: he would have appreciated the hug.

"I was so close, Alfie," Dick muttered. "So close."

"So it is him, Master Dick?"

Suspicion had taken root the moment Robin had caught Red X stealing from him, and it had only solidified when he and Red X had fallen into a rhythm while fighting, a rhythm he'd only ever achieved with three other people: Batgirl, Batman, and the second Robin.

The second Robin, his adopted brother, who, with Dick's blessing, had taken up the Robin persona in Gotham when Dick had left for Jump, because despite everything, Dick would not leave Bruce to handle Gotham alone.

Jason, who…who had fallen. Months ago. By the Joker's hand.

At first he'd rejected the idea. Because that was crazy, right? His guilt and his grief were just rearing their ugly heads. No one could come back and certainly not after _that_.

Not unless…

Red X's had identity haunted him, and after a bit of crazed research, Dick had found his answers easily enough from the League of Shadows. He'd sucked up his pride—because when it came to family, there was no place for pride—and sent all his evidence to the Batcave.

Whose owner had yet to reply, to call, to do _anything_ about what Dick had discovered.

"I've never been more sure of anything," Dick said.

Alfred leaned back in his chair, his composure faltering as he closed his eyes and released a slow breath.

"It's my fault," Dick muttered.

The butler leapt upright. "I don't want to hear that kind of talk, Master Dick. Nothing about this situation is remotely your fault. Nor is it—"

"But if I had been faster! Or more efficient! Or half as smart as he is...Alf, if I had been _better,_ I would have been able to catch up to him and talk to him, and maybe then Jay would…"

"Master Jason—" Alfred's voice almost broke "—like you, was trained by Batman. If he doesn't want to be found, he won't be. And with his knowledge of the streets…if he wanted to lose you…"

"That's no excuse," Dick growled.

Alfred's expression became stern. "There are many admirable qualities Master Bruce has instilled into you, Master Dick," he said. "Your tendency to shoulder the blame for things that are beyond your control is not one of them."

The tension in Dick's shoulders loosened as he processed what Alfred was saying. He couldn't muster up any resentment at being compared to Bruce, not now. Besides, Alfred knew best, so Dick couldn't exactly argue the point, even if he wanted to.

"Why doesn't he want to talk to me, Alfred?" Dick asked instead. "Why not any of us?"

"Perhaps, Master Dick, he isn't ready to."

There was a hint of a suggestion lingering in air, and Dick's eyes hardened. "I'm not giving up on him, Alfred."

"I'm not asking you to, but perhaps—"

"I don't care what he's done."

 _I don't care about the guns!_ Dick had wanted to scream at Red X earlier that week. _I care that you're_ back _._

"I know," Alfred said soothingly, and in a distant sort of way, Dick was grateful that Alfred didn't judge or discredit his immediate forgiveness. His acceptance of Jay's mistakes. Or rather, his tolerance toward his misdeeds. "But Master Jason may not."

"But _why_? Doesn't he want to come home after what happened to him? I mean, I know we had our differences…"

That was putting it mildly. When Bruce had taken in street rat Jason Todd, Dick had felt as though he was being replaced in retribution for his growing rebellion. When Jason had suddenly found himself with an adopted brother he could never hope to compare to in Bruce's eyes, he'd very obviously resented Dick, too. Their less-than-civil feelings for each other fed a cycle of competitiveness that wasn't exactly...healthy, to say the least.

But that was at the beginning, before Dick realized he was projecting his anger at Bruce on someone who didn't deserve it. Dick had thought he and Jason had worked past all of it, cementing their newfound friendship and respect for each other when he allowed Jason to take his place by Batman's side. He'd thought…

"Dammit, Alfred," Dick gasped, wiping at his stinging eyes. "He's _family_."

It was the first time he'd said it out loud, but it didn't make it any less true. It was impossible to deny. When Jason died, Dick hadn't mourned a once-rival-turned-friend. He'd mourned a brother.

"I know it is difficult," Alfred said, "but take a moment to think about the interactions you've had with the new identity Master Jason has taken on. Red X, if I'm not mistaken?" He didn't wait for Dick to nod. "Just this last week alone, you've dogged his steps, unraveled his plans, done everything you could to stop him from doing whatever it was he was doing."

"But I had to stop him," Dick said aloud. "He was tangling with some nasty people, Alfred. People were getting killed."

"I'm not denying you did the right thing, Master Dick, but how does it look, from his perspective? That you stood against him so boldly, and with your team at your side?"

"Like I don't trust him," Dick answered immediately. "Like I don't think he can handle himself. Like I think he's the bad guy. But surely…?"

"Considering Master Bruce's notes on the Lazarus Pit, we can't be sure of anything," Alfred reminded gently.

Blood running cold, Dick grit his teeth and turned his burning gaze away from the monitor to look out the window. It was nearly impossible to hide the guilt in his voice as he asked haltingly, "You don't…you don't suppose it changed him, do you, Alfred?"

"I…don't have the answers, Master Dick. I sorely wish I did."

He wasn't disappointed by that answer, and that's when he knew he hadn't asked the right question. Besides, it was obvious something had changed in the last few months. Death, the Pit…whatever it was that had done it, there was something in Jason Dick didn't recognize and wasn't sure he wanted to acknowledge. Or accept.

Not yet anyway.

Restless fingers trembled on his lap, his palms clammy, and with jerky movements, he tugged his gloves off. He stared at the calluses on his palms, accumulated from years of practicing on the parallel and uneven bars, poor substitutes for the trapeze at times like these, when all he wanted to do was fly and leave earthly concerns behind. "Do you think he blames us after all?"

Alfred's gaze was sharp, cutting through Dick straight to the core. "Now that I doubt."

"Bruce was right there. Seconds away. I was gone," Dick pointed out. "And the Joker—" he hissed the name: the villain's transgressions against his family were far too vast to keep the hatred from his voice "—he's escaped multiple times since Jason's been gone. He's still running around Gotham like it's his personal playground."

"Master Jason would not blame you or Master Bruce for what happened to him," Alfred repeated, his belief in the statement ringing through every word. "You know how fiercely protective he was of his right to choose. He took responsibility for his decision to become the second Robin."

"You didn't say he wouldn't blame the Joker."

"Master Jason wouldn't be so foolish as to go after the Joker. Not alone."

"Maybe not, but he was always…reckless."

"Never vengeful."

Point: Alfred. Dick dropped the line of thought, not sure why he felt so uncomfortable, or so afraid, of what was to come. The unknown usually thrilled him, fascinated him, but this premonitory feeling was almost nauseating in its intensity, disturbing in its hold over him.

Jay had always told him he worried too much.

"…it doesn't make sense," Dick muttered, and suddenly, part of him almost wished Bruce was there. There was no one better to bounce ideas off. Not that Dick wasn't grateful for Alfred, but Bruce…he was Dick's partner, once. They understood each other in a way few others could. "What was his goal in Jump, then? To screw with our heads? To…"

"To…?" Alfred prompted.

"It was strange, Alfred," Dick said slowly. "When we broke through the inner circle of the gang, I don't think he cared. He wasn't angry."

"Well, I would certainly hope not."

Dick shook his head, and the thing that had been bothering him all morning finally broke free, its clarity nearly blinding. "Right and wrong has nothing to do with it. I thought, maybe, he was working undercover for the Shadows and had gotten in too deep, but…that isn't it at all. He wasn't invested. He didn't care that everything was falling apart _._ It was almost like…he was doing this to see if he _could_."

Dick and Alfred sat in silence, musing over the implications of Dick's observations and wondering what it all meant.

"This is fucked up, Alfred," Dick said eventually, not quite liking where his deductions were taking him and _despising_ the encroaching storm his gut was foreshadowing for him.

"Language."

Dick's lips twitched into a humorless smirk. "This is really, really screwed up, Alfred."

"It's not a normal situation by any means." Alfred rubbed his eyes, red and lined with exhaustion. "What do you mean to do?"

"I'm not giving up on him," Dick repeated, and if there was a barb shot, aimed through the darkness at his absent mentor, of course it was intentional. The emotionally constipated ass-hat. "I'll keep searching. Covertly. My team doesn't need to get involved any more than they already have been."

"Well, I'm sure I don't need to tell you this, Master Dick, but everyone needs a reminder, now and then: don't push your friends away. You need them, as they need you."

Lingering guilt from his previous mistakes with Slade made him wince, and he murmured, "I won't forget, Alfred."

Alfred smiled, and it was a special sort of smile that reminded Dick of his first months in the manor, when he didn't understand why his parents had to fall, why Zucco was still free, and why Bruce was always gone whenever he had a nightmare; when Alfred would squeeze his shoulder and nudge a mug of hot chocolate heaped with whipped cream and cinnamon into his hands. "I trust you won't." Leaning forward, Alfred said, "Now on the topic of your friends. Tell me of what has transpired the last few months. I've heard the most interesting rumors."

Grateful for Alfred's thoughtful navigation into brighter waters, Dick grinned and teased, "Not like you to take much stock in the rumor-mill, Alfred."

"Normally, I wouldn't have to."

Dick flinched under Alfred's piercing gaze. "Ouch. Okay, I deserved that. But honestly, it's not like Bruce hasn't already been creeping on us. I know him."

"Believe it or not, Master Bruce respects you _and_ your decision to act as Robin in Jump City, even if he doesn't agree with it. He would not resort to such measures unless it was integral to one of his, or the Justice League's, cases."

Giving Alfred a blank look, Dick crossed his arms. "…you've already given him a lecture about it, haven't you?"

Alfred blinked and straightened his waist coat, the image of propriety and professional aloofness. "I did nothing of the sort."

"Really."  
"I didn't tell him anything he hadn't already begun to realize himself."

Dick's brows rose, and his gaze skipped across Alfred's face, an inkling of hope sparking within. Despite what he might have screamed at Bruce about being incapable of change, about his complete inability to admit he was wrong about _anything_ , on his way out the door…

Dick had always been the optimistic one.

"…How is he?" Dick asked before he could stop himself.

Alfred frowned, and Dick's heart sank. That frown spoke volumes. It spoke of long nights, frustration, harbored fears that Batman wouldn't return home that night. It spoke of carelessness on patrols and injuries that could have been avoided and wild parties in which Brucie the Socalite would lose himself over and over again.

It spoke of a father watching his son slowly destroy himself and knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it.

So Dick, channeling his inner performer's charisma and cheer, put on a smile and chattered about everything and anything else. He told Alfred about his team, about how much they've grown. He told him about some of the training regimens he developed and how excited he was to try them out. He updated Alfred on the cases they had solved and the villains they had faced, laughing about the team's more foolish mistakes and reminiscing on the lessons learned.

He even mentioned a few of the solo missions each of them had had, lingering for some time on what Starfire had seen in the future.

He actually talked a lot about Nightwing, about the bedtime stories Uncle Clark had told him long ago, ones he'd forgotten up until the moment he heard that name again.

Most of all, however, he spoke of his friends, of their selflessness and their goofiness, of their compassion and all their quirks.

"You care a great deal for them," Alfred commented.

Dick hadn't felt the need to respond with more than a simple, "They're a loyal team."

When it was time to say their goodbyes, Dick felt as though he hadn't told Alfred half as much as he wanted to, and with a vague sense of disappointment and nostalgia, he promised to call more often.

This time he meant it.

Alfred gave Dick one of his rare smiles and wickedly reminded him to take care of himself and to keep an eye out for the parcels he'd be sending before finally, the call disconnected.

An hour later, Robin emerged from the main room, his nose a little pink and eyes scratchy behind his mask, to catch whoever it was the security system announced was at their door.

Beast Boy, in cheetah form, raced past Robin halfway to the front door and beat him there. The others, nosy as they were, followed Robin and hovered as Beast Boy answered the door. A delivery woman with a dolly loaded with insulated Styrofoam chests stood there.

Because of course Alfred would have prepared the meals and sent them well ahead of his call to Titan Tower.

Robin's lips quirked into a smile, which slowly broadened into a full-blown grin as the others crowed and whooped, swarming over the ice chests and peeking into them with a great deal of curiosity, glittering eyes, and drool.

Though the delivery woman's eyes were hidden by a pair of huge sunglasses and the shade of an ugly brown visor that didn't quite agree with her red hair, Robin could tell she was amused too.

"Hey," he said kindly, offering his hand. "Thank you so much."

The woman looked at the hand, a slight smirk on her lips, and Robin's hand faltered. That smirk…

Barbara Gordon lowered her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and winked. As Robin's eyes widened and jaw started to drop, she put a finger to her lips and flipped open her storage clipboard, drawing a letter and a flash drive from within.

"This is a letter with instructions about the food from A," she said brightly. "And this—" she pressed the flash-drive into Robin's palm with particular care "—is from the Big Man. Encrypted, but he didn't trust it with anyone else."

Heart throbbing, Robin closed his gaping mouth and slowly closed his fingers around the drive. It could only contain one thing.

 _He hasn't given up on us_ , Robin realized, and some of the dread that had been pooling in his gut started to drain away. _He's…he's trying._

"Robin!"

Barbara and Robin turned to Beast Boy, who bounced on the balls of his feet, eyes wide and hands clasped under his chin. "Think we can get on this? Like, now? Pretty please? It's dinnertime already!"

"Yeah, of course," Robin said distractedly, "just give me—"

"Lezzgoooooooo!" Cyborg shouted, balancing two of the insulated chests across his shoulders and booking it to the kitchen. Starfire and Beast Boy were too excited to take any of the other chests as they raced after Cyborg, so Raven was left rolling her eyes and levitating the rest of the food behind her.

Robin watched them go and turned back to his surprise visitor. "It's good to see you, Babs."

Looking him up and down, she pushed her aviators back up her nose and said, "It's good to see you too, Dick. Or what's left of you at any rate."

"Oi, c'mon now. I just got lectured. By _Alfred_. I think I've met my quota of lectures for the next week at least."

Barbara laughed, and her gaze slid behind him, where the others had disappeared. "You've got a good thing going here, Dick. I didn't think so, at first, but I was wrong."

Pride swelled within him, and his legendary smirk grew across his face. "I'm sorry, but what did you just say? Did you just admit you were wrong? I don't think I heard you right."

"Oh, shut up, you troll." Poking him in the chest with a viscous jab, she added, "Just don't forget you've got people cheering for you in Gotham."

"I'd never."

"Hm." Barbara took a step back and wheeled the empty dolly around. He was almost sad to see her go, though he should have expected she wasn't going to stay, considering she was undercover as a delivery girl and not in her full Batgirl uniform. "See you around, Boy Wonder. Call me, okay? And read that letter!"

Robin, his attention back on the pristine white letter, stood in the doorway for a moment and waved absentmindedly to Babs as she returned to her rented boat and began her trip back across the water to mainland. After tucking the flash drive into a hidden slot in his utility belt, he ripped it open.

Immediately, a white card slid out from the pages of Alfred's neat handwriting, and Robin crouched to pick it up. He brought it, trembling in his suddenly clumsy fingers, up to his face.

On one side, in the neat but distinctive script of a well-seasoned businessman, read: " _Be safe –B."_

And on the other: " _And for God's sake, Dick,_ eat _."_

That night on patrol, for the first time since the Joker had put a bullet in his shoulder, Robin's cackle was heard echoing through the streets.


End file.
